


Once Before Last Call

by gigantic



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Best Friends, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-06 09:31:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14053989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gigantic/pseuds/gigantic
Summary: The truth was that if Gansey had been feeling preoccupied the last time they'd gone to one of his family's gatherings, it was only increased now.





	Once Before Last Call

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kickthebeat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kickthebeat/gifts).



> K asked me to write porn based on [Maggie Stiefvater's rough draft of a deleted TRK chapter](http://maggie-stiefvater.tumblr.com/post/153239570701/ive-often-been-asked-to-release-the-hundreds-of), and I said okay. But then it kind of became about Gansey's feelings? Anyway, read that early draft first.
> 
> Thanks, as always, to M for helping and putting up with me!

Gansey could have caught up to Ronan, but he didn’t want to break a sweat before mingling. He didn’t want to give Ronan the satisfaction of watching him show haste when Ronan had already effectively won this round of their argument by not losing his cool.

Responsibility: 1, Ronan: 1

At least driving the Pig alone might help Gansey adjust his smile before he had to show it to people.

He reached the school ahead of Ronan and Adam. Gansey scanned the parking lot and then the corners inside the main auditorium to be certain, finding neither of his friends but instead catching eyes with Helen off to the right.

“You’re here without backup after all,” she said as she greeted him with one outstretched arm. “Does this mean I won’t have to intervene before the wretched one curses out a donor?”

Gansey hugged her and smoothed his hands over the lapels of his jacket once they stepped apart. “They’re coming. He knows better.”

Knowing better and behaving better were rarely in perfect harmony with Ronan. Helen arched an eyebrow, indicating that she was also already aware of this. 

“No outbursts indoors, please,” she said, in a tone that made it less a request and instead a ruling. 

“Never,” said Gansey optimistically.

Last time wasn’t an aberration, but at least Ronan had already expended some of his combative energy at Monmouth Manufacturing. For the rest of it, Adam could help Gansey politely shove Ronan toward an exit if tensions boiled.

He found his parents holding court near the center of the room. His mother paused to clasp his hands as she said hello. He kissed her cheek and let her introduce him — yes, Dick, the straight-A student who adores history. The one the dean mentioned earlier, yes. What a charming, handsome young man.

“This is Ms. Porter, Mr. Kinnaman and Mr. Charles Bagley,” his mother said. He didn’t quite commit their occupations to memory, but he made important mental notes of the names as he shook hands. 

There was something to be said about routine. Gansey’s earlier mood didn’t dissipate, but the familiarity of small talk helped him tuck it away. The room was perfectly temperate and full of perfectly amiable conversation. He thought about the charming chaos of 300 Fox Way, how Blue might look standing next to him now in perhaps an improbable but earnest cut-up t-shirt dress, and hid his amusement by stretching his smile wider.

“Were your schoolmates able to join us?” his father asked.

“They’re en route. Ronan offered to pick Adam up.” Gansey hoped it made Ronan sound both dutiful and chivalrous, two things most people didn’t think to apply to him once they saw him up close.

Gansey resisted the itch in his fingers that wanted him to text Adam to make sure responsibility won out again. 

A good half an hour ticked by before Gansey saw his friends finally appear. He caught them arriving, partly because he kept cutting his eyes to the door whenever a break in conversation allowed. The other part could be credited to the way Ronan darkened the doorway, a scowling shadow just behind Adam’s shoulder. 

“Dick has been a tremendous help, too, even while balancing school and extracurriculars,” Mr. Gansey was saying. 

“Already looking ahead to joining the family fold, Dick?” Mr. Kinnaman joked.

“Mmm.” Gansey nodded and brought his eyes back to the conversation. “Of course. It’s been a second education.”

Kinnaman followed his first unfunny quip with a second, and Gansey’s mother and father laughed in a well-honed, flattering tenor. As charitable and accommodating as always — the Gansey way. Gansey failed to stop his eyes from drifting, watching Adam and Ronan proceed to the opposite side of the room, weaving slowly through the clusters of guests. Ronan’s tie was still, thankfully, firmly knotted, though the slim cut of his suit looked even more inappropriate when Gansey could actually see him in contrast to Virginia’s most respectable rather than just imagining it. Despite the tension in his shoulders, even Adam managed to blend in, his elegant face always highlighted when he was buttoned up and freshly clean, not a hint of grease or sweat on him from working.

Ronan bent to say something near Adam’s good ear and met whatever Adam said in return with a gleaming, shark-like grin. Gansey shifted on his feet and exhaled, trying to focus again, but the restless, erratic thrumming he’d felt at home began nipping at his bones again. Ronan could make breathing look like danger. When a server passed, offering flutes of champagne, Ronan swiped one. Gansey took it as his cue.

“Will you excuse me?” he said, flashing his most disarming smile.

He crossed the auditorium in fifteen precisely relaxed strides. Ronan held his champagne to his mouth and sputtered when Gansey reached for the stem, taking it away.

“Hey, fuck you,” he said. “Get your own.”

Gansey took a sip and held on to the glass. “You don’t like sweeter drinks anyway.”

“It’s dry,” Ronan said, spiteful.

“He’s hiding a flask in his jacket,” Adam said, a true comrade.

Ronan glared, though it looked more out of habit than anything. Adam shrugged stiffly. They were a lesson in opposites, Adam unsure of how to move in a room brimming with this many posh accents, Ronan wearing insolence as casually as cologne.

Gansey drank more champagne and his eyes struggled to see where any flask could be successfully hidden. “I’d like thirty minutes before you spike anything.”

“To do _what_?”

“We’re representing Aglionby. People might want to talk with you.”

Ronan scoffed like that was absurd, and Gansey couldn’t really disagree. Still, it would make him feel better.

“I should say hi to your parents. And Helen,” Adam said, mouth quirking. They hadn’t seen him since not-so-subtly gifting Adam with more than he’d ever accepted from Gansey himself, including his unfortunate car. 

“They won’t bite,” Gansey said. “They’ll be happy to see you. My dad has already asked about you.”

The truth was that if Gansey had been feeling preoccupied the last time they had gone to a family gathering, it was only increased now. He felt suddenly like he might be in two places at once, already commandeering a booth at Nino’s and simultaneously stuck in this room for at least an hour or two. Having Adam and Ronan around always made him feel more complete, but it also helped him remember how to be Gansey in contrast.

He drank more champagne. Already he’d nearly finished Ronan’s glass.

“Thirty minutes,” Ronan said, his voice strangely lilting as he swayed toward Gansey. This wasn’t reluctant agreement but a taunt.

Gansey looked him in the eye as he drained his final sip. Ronan held his gaze and then nudged Adam’s shoulder.

“Let’s go,” he said. “The faster you do this, the sooner I can be someplace else.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “As long as it helps you.”

“I’m glad you care so much, Parrish.”

“Not until after my mother speaks,” Gansey said after them, but they had already begun to move away. 

He meant to follow but stopped to look for a place to discard his empty glass. As he did, someone said, “Mister Gansey,” and he found Headmaster Child coming toward him. Gansey set the flute on the nearest table and met him partway.

“Evening, sir. Thank you again for helping us put tonight together,” Gansey said as cheerily as possible.

Child held up a hand in polite dismissal. “I’ve already told your parents they don’t need to thank me again. You know how much I respect your family.”

Gansey knew it perhaps a little better than his parents. He hadn’t forgotten the phone call, compounding his chat with Pinter and bargaining on behalf of a boy who would love nothing more than to come back right now and tell Child where he and the rest of Aglionby could shove it.

Child’s brief glance in the direction where Ronan had been standing indicated he hadn’t forgotten their agreement either. “I see Mr. Lynch has graced us this evening.”

Of course he had noticed right away, with Ronan dressed like an impeccable obscenity. No one could’ve missed him tonight. 

“We thought it best to represent the student body,” Gansey said, though the spin was pointless. 

Child knew the state of things. Gansey and Adam’s grades made them great candidates for representing Aglionby. Ronan — god, Ronan was leaning in toward one of Gansey’s mother’s donors as he spoke. Gansey felt his body lurch just slightly, instinct tugging him in the direction of simmering chaos, but his wits won out in the nick of time. Child would surely follow if Gansey went over, and putting him right in Ronan’s path would only make things worse.

“I’d feel more confident if Mr. Lynch consistently showed initiative.” Child raised his eyebrows in silent admonishment. 

“He’s practicing,” Gansey said. Ronan was still leaning. Gansey’s attention shouldn’t be split but he was struggling to pull his disparate emotions in line. 

_Get your shit together_ , he thought, Ronan’s eerily even voice from earlier rattling his brain. Ronan’s face up close, reminding Gansey that they could skip the entire night, was still so clear in his mind.

He felt like the Gordian knot, his thoughts and impulses overlapping. Gansey was here but he was still at home, giving into Ronan’s mischief. He was here but he was across the room intervening, buffing out Ronan’s edges. He was here but he could be anywhere, standing in the middle of a road, out in a cave, finding Glendower, finding an anchor. 

No, no. He was just here. Time dipped and then snicked back into place. It was too late to skip anyway.

Across the room, Adam attempted a polite smile. He looked gaunt and faraway with his shoulders hunched slightly — like his suit was too small even though it fit him well. Crowds of people unlike him made Adam a ghost. Gansey thought of Noah suddenly, smudged cheek and cool kindness. He might have been more solid here than Adam seemed right now, an ellipsis next to Ronan’s exclamation point. At least whatever he said made Ronan rock back again. Crisis forestalled.

“There have to be benchmarks,” Child was saying. It was the middle of a thought, not the beginning, but Gansey had entirely missed how they’d gotten to this point. “Mr. Lynch’s instructors are still expressing concern about his participation.”

Ahh.

“We’re establishing good habits.” Gansey made sure to show teeth when he smiled. Confidence. There was confidence in teeth. “Adam and I have laid a really promising foundation.”

“I know you care about him,” Child said.

A spike of hot displeasure stabbed through Gansey. He wasn’t often fazed by condescension. It was a strength of adults, and most people learned that Gansey was a more reasonable sort over time, but Child’s false empathy struck right into his ribcage.

They had a deal. Negotiations were over.

“Lynch and I will thank you for your concern in that library dedication,” he said and didn’t excuse himself as he walked off.

Gansey passed another server on his way and grabbed a second glass of champagne. He downed it quickly and lost the evidence just in time for someone else to stop him for a chat. Gansey cleared his throat. He willed his cheeks to lift.

Conversing with strangers was neater, though the restlessness didn’t leave his legs. He forced himself not to rock in place, the tension gathering in his calf muscles.

It was like his ligaments sang for him to go, and every time someone he was speaking with looked down, Gansey’s eyes found Ronan again. He and Adam had finished saying hello to his parents. They were with someone Gansey didn’t recognize, then Helen, then a man who wore a cravat without a hint of irony, and Gansey could see Ronan gathering up a flurry of opinions about that in the way he crossed his arms.

By the time Gansey could get to them again, he’d spoken to six more people and grabbed another glass of champagne. He didn’t even enjoy drinking much, but Ronan had been right — the champagne wasn’t very sweet and, anyhow, Gansey liked having something to do with his hands.

“Have you offended anyone?” he asked, not looking only at Ronan but meaning him.

Adam pinched the knot of his tie absently. “He called that lawyer over there a cockalorum, but I don’t think he caught it.”

“Lynch.” Gansey eyed Ronan over his frames.

“There may have been some colorful Latin, too,” Adam added. He said it flatly, like he was bored, but the apple of one cheek was more prominent in the other. A lopsided, not quite smile. He recited the phrases. Gansey was horrified by what he could decipher quickly enough.

Ronan looked positively delighted by the retelling. “They told me I sounded poetic.” 

“I mistranslated when they asked,” Adam said.

Gansey’s blood thrummed, a dovetail of frustration and something else tangled in on itself. “Lynch,” he said again but with a sigh.

“Your cheeks are flushed.” Ronan seemed as pleased by Gansey’s disapproval as getting away with his insults. He grinned and pat three fingers against the alleged blush. “It’s been 25 minutes.”

“It’s just champagne. I’m fine.”

“You are red,” Adam confirmed. 

Gansey huffed and shrugged. He kept his back to the rest of the room, sure that if he turned around someone would want to catch his attention. Everybody wanted to talk to him, the politician’s son, but none of them wanted to ask about the things actually nagging at his mind. Gansey’s skin tingled irritably just thinking of it.

“My god, it’s _hot_ in here,” he said. He needed air.

He didn’t ask Ronan and Adam to escape with him, but they followed anyway. Gansey felt oddly relieved to step outside with company. There was no one at the rear of the building. The quaint music of the gala filtered out behind them until the door shut and then snapped away unceremoniously.

“Are you drunk on champagne already?” Ronan asked as he sat down on the stone steps first. He leaned against the brick railing, his legs stretching diagonally across a step below him. 

Gansey watched him unfurl in resplendent defiance and said, “Of course not.”

“Good.” Ronan opened his jacket and produced the hidden flask. “I don’t have to be embarrassed for you.”

Gansey’s snort was unbecoming but he didn’t care. He sat on the opposite side of the landing and watched Ronan uncap his flask.

“I thought you were doing this less now,” Gansey said, shifting his feet to let Adam take up the space between them on the landing. “Is it cheap?”

He regretted asking as soon as it was out there. Gansey looked to Adam, but Adam stared down the path, out into the night.

“Of course not.” Ronan mimicked Gansey’s voice badly enough that Gansey wasn’t offended. “I didn’t bring it for me.”

He held it out to Adam, who passed the flask right across to Gansey, though he looked skeptical about whether Gansey might take it. Gansey felt the same way.

“What makes you think I want it?” Gansey asked but immediately knew that was foolish. He thought of Ronan’s face at Monmouth and his own hesitation. “Isn’t it bad to mix types?”

Ronan’s smile was a slash under his nose. “I’ll dream you a new liver.”

Gansey rolled his eyes and looked to Adam. “Is this cliche?”

Adam lifted one shoulder and gestured with the flask. He didn’t seem dismissive, just distant, a not uncommon Adam state of being. It had been more pronounced since Persephone. 

Christ. Persephone.

Gansey took the flask and tipped his head back. Whiskey, perhaps. It burned like he anticipated. He hated that but thankfully didn’t cough around the gulp. After a couple of calming breaths, Gansey repeated the process.

“Alright. It’s fine to be a little less ambitious for once,” Ronan said. He held out his arm, and Gansey leaned forward to pass it back. 

Ronan drank with a practiced ease. Beer was more his speed on the average night, Gansey knew, but he was no stranger to something with bite. Ronan pressed one palm to his stomach. Gansey’s eyes followed his tie upward from there, past the leather bands that had been hidden by his shirt sleeves, over the way his Adam’s apple bobbed and right to the edge of his chin. 

Ronan was lean and made up of sharp lines. It had been true as long as Gansey had known him, but it stuck out more now. The angles that had made Ronan fascinating and sometimes otherworldly when they met seemed more severe, even ominous when he wanted them to be. Ronan had wanted to be ominous for a while.

Ronan grit his teeth after he swallowed and exhaled.

“Parrish?” he said.

Adam shook his head and passed the flask back to Gansey. Warmth had already seized Gansey’s cheeks. Pathetic after only one shot. He held on to the flask and looked to Ronan again, who settled into the brick further and wafted a hand as encouragement.

Gansey drank. They shared the alcohol for a while, back and forth. Ronan somehow looked less moody and yet more like trouble — or maybe the latter was due to him unknotting his tie.

“Leave it,” Gansey said. “We’re not done here.”

“I’m not going back inside.” Ronan pulled the tie free from his neck, a slick black snake uncoiling from its master. A noose slipped, Ronan would probably have said instead.

“My mother still has to speak.” 

“I did my thirty minutes.”

Adam hummed critically. He asked, “Do they really need us?”

Gansey didn’t have the right to feel betrayed. Adam hadn’t posed the question in a rude way, but it still felt like a small loss. Nothing was going the way it was supposed to tonight. Gansey’s ankles caught that buzzing sensation. Away, he thought. Away, away, away. He groaned.

Ronan: 2, Responsibility: floundering.

He could go in alone. Gansey didn’t need Adam and Ronan in order to stand on a stage in support while his mom gave her speech, but it suddenly felt incomprehensible. His brain struggled to picture himself going through the motions. He was still so hot.

“Pizza,” Ronan said, drawing out the second vowel with a hushed song. “You can still have avocado. It’ll even be green.”

At least being playful meant Ronan still had some confidence that Gansey could do the respectable thing here. Gansey consulted his watch. 6:21 — no. 9:12. 

“I lost track of time,” he said and frowned. Ronan snorted and laughed like Gansey had just landed the punchline of the century. His smile wasn’t quite as jagged as it had been earlier, and Gansey frowned harder. “What?”

“Look at how red he is,” Ronan said to Adam. “And you’re pouting.”

“I’m not.” Gansey could feel that he was. Ronan: 3. He dusted off his hands and pressed them flat on the stone, hauling himself to his feet. “Is there any more left?”

Ronan was holding the flask loosely, braced against his thigh. He jiggled it experimentally. “Maybe one more.” 

Gansey held out his hand. Ronan stared at him, unmoving. For a moment, Gansey wondered whether this was going to be another kind of showdown, but then Ronan extended his arm. Adam swiped the flask before Gansey could take it. 

“You shouldn’t,” he said. “You really are bright red.”

He turned the flask up and drained it himself. Gansey watched the tan, unblemished line of his neck. He didn’t have the trouble with drinking that Gansey did, but he didn’t make it look rebellious like Ronan either. Done and done, businesslike. His suit was still neat. Adam made it look cool because he looked adult. 

Gansey’s eyes flicked from his throat to his mouth and down again, derailed finally as he noticed Ronan in the middle of his own study. Ronan’s gaze refocused, looking past Adam to Gansey, and Gansey felt his cheeks flame anew. They could skip. He wouldn’t. Ronan rolled his eyes without heat and made a show of dropping his head back and closing his eyes. 

“I’m going inside,” Gansey announced to make his feet move. He didn’t wait to find out if they would follow again. 

;;

Blue would’ve come back in with him. She would have made a few barbed comments about the atmosphere under her breath, but she wouldn’t have abandoned him. He missed her intensely and that was exactly why he tucked that thought low inside him, hidden under muscle and filed away to pick at any time but now.

Despite being overheated, Gansey thought he felt pretty decent. He greeted a couple more potential donors, complete with firm handshakes for each. If he was rosy, no one mentioned it or looked at him askance. Gansey didn’t turn to search for Ronan and Adam once, and after an eternity he followed his parents and Helen onto the small stage once it was time for the public address. Sales pitch hour.

It was under the three lights shining directly on them that he realized he’d made a few miscalculations. Gansey was definitely drunk. The bright lights felt both mesmerizing and disorienting. He hoped he wasn’t sweating through his jacket or anything else that could be unfortunately memorable. 

He also saw neither Adam nor Ronan out in the crowd. His line of sight ended two rows into the cluster, but Gansey didn’t feel confident they were hidden by the glare in his face. 

Actively managing his smile kept him present. His mother’s speech was well-composed, inspiring. She and her speechwriter had outdone themselves. Gansey would have to let them know when he wasn’t worried about immediately giving away his overindulgences. 

He swayed slightly, his attention drifting. Gansey folded his hands behind his back and planted his feet. Helen still glanced at him and away again, suspicious. He gave his smile extra wattage. 

Just when he thought he really wouldn’t make it off the stage before sweating through every layer on his body, his mother hit her rousing final lines. The crowd clapped, their enthusiasm notched just above dinner party gracious. A solid win. 

“Really?” Helen said, nudging him with her elbow once the lights dimmed back to normal. “Did you drink an entire bottle of champagne?”

“I was mingling.” Gansey tucked his finger into his collar, pulling it away from his skin like he could release steam. At least his skin didn’t feel clammy. Maybe it was all in his head. “It was a few glasses.” 

Helen tucked her clutch under her arm and turned Gansey’s face toward her. Examining him, she said, “And here I was worried about your friend.”

Gansey scoffed. This _was_ still Ronan’s fault. He’d brought the flask. Gansey nudged her fingers away and smoothed a hand over his hair unnecessarily. “I’ll just hug mom and dad. I won’t linger.” 

“Yes, do us both a favor.”

She said it as if he was being a problem. Of course, Gansey felt like a problem but not for the same reasons. He didn’t have to be reminded not to embarrass their family. The urge to make that point threatened to push its way out of his mouth, so he looked across the stage to their parents. The congratulations were already beginning. Gansey braced Helen’s side as he moved past her, lifting his chin in hopes that it made him seem even less like he was compensating. 

His mother and his father were already entertaining enough strangers that Gansey was able to duck into an embrace with each of them quickly and steal away again. “Wait, Dick—” his mother tried, but a woman in an ostentatious fur shawl began speaking at the same time. His mother turned her smile away. Gansey took the opportunity, taking care not to hop off the stage like his legs wanted and obediently going for the steps at the side of the platform.

He took stock of the room and the nearest exit. With the speech over, the sea of partygoers parted — half to the bar, half to the politician. At the end of the neat pathway toward the door was, impossibly, Ronan. He was propped against a wall, tie still missing and now a shirt button or two undone. Each time the door opened, a yellow-orange glow from the lamps outdoors highlighted one side of his body. Now he wasn’t trying to look respectable at all. 

Gansey stalked toward him. “You got me drunk.” 

Ronan’s eyebrows went up, then furrowed. His lips parted, showing a hint of teeth in amusement. “You got you drunk.” 

“It wasn’t my flask!” Gansey worried about his volume. Peering over his shoulder only made Ronan seemed more entertained. “Stop smiling. Where’s Adam?” 

Ronan’s shoulders slouched. “I took him home.” 

“But you’d been drinking.” 

“He drove.” While Gansey took a few moments to imagine Ronan handing over the BMW keys without a fight, Ronan added, “I told him I wasn’t drunk, and he forced water on me before I left anyway.” 

Gansey felt a swell of pride and appreciation for Adam Parrish. He brought his hand to his chest. “I’m glad.”

“I’m bored,” Ronan said.

“My family will want a more official goodbye.”

“You’re not going to talk to them again when you’re like this.” Ronan had a point, but Gansey didn’t want to tell him so. He didn’t need to either, it seemed, because Ronan pushed away from the wall to move to the door without permission. “I got you a present.”

Intriguing. Gansey perked up. He liked to help get things for other people. Receiving was something he did much less often. There was usually no need, but Ronan’s surprises tended toward the incredible lately. Gansey followed him outside. Ronan: 4. 

He imagined something like Ronan’s orb trinket — Orb _master_ Gansey’s brain supplied with a sloshy cheerfulness — but when they came to the BMW, Ronan opened the passenger side and gestured inside. A large box was sitting on the seat. 

“Nino’s!” Gansey placed his palms over the top, savoring the promising warmth against his skin. He was instantly _starving_. Ronan: 5. Game-winner. 

“Stop feeling up our pizza and get in,” Ronan said. 

Gansey frowned. “I’d hate to leave the Pig.”

“I can drive it. We’ll leave mine instead,” Ronan offered, holding out his hand for keys. 

Gansey gave him a low five. “I’ll never be that drunk.”

Ronan rubbed a hand over Gansey’s head and made a shooing motion, urging him to just drop into the BMW then. Gansey did. He put the pizza in his lap and relished the heat the box left on the seat underneath him. The food smelled delicious. He opened it as Ronan slipped around the front and dipped into the driver’s side. 

“You are a god among men,” Gansey said, meaning the pizza and the owner of Nino’s but also Ronan. “Here.”

Gansey held out a slice. Ronan ducked to the side and took a bite. Holding it steady, Gansey watched his teeth sink in and the way he used his lips to help pull a chunk away. Successful, Ronan reclined in his seat and started the ignition. Gansey watched him lick his lips as he gripped the steering wheel, bringing the pizza to his own mouth and finally looking away when Ronan noticed him. 

“Sauce?” he asked and rubbed at his face.

“No.” 

Alcohol had Gansey’s attention snagging in ways that were typically reserved for recalling facts from his journal. Like now, aware that he was pressing his mouth around the same cheese, tomato and avocado that Ronan’s lips had touched. He felt an echo in his head, thinking of Blue and yogurt, then he was back to the present. Gansey couldn’t stop cataloguing the simple ways he overlapped with the people it felt most dangerous to touch. His mouth buzzed with some phantom sensation, the fervor of it sneaking along his skull. As it crept into his ears, he punched on the radio with the side of his hand. 

Ronan’s phone must’ve been in the car somewhere, because the Bluetooth picked up his music. Usually the electronic bass interrupted Gansey’s thoughts in a way that unsettled him, but he was thankful for it now. He let the sludgy, demanding cadence sync to his heartbeat and lull the swoop he felt from drinking, from thinking too hard. He ate his pizza and leaned his head against the cool window, arcing toward home. 

;;

Monmouth Manufacturing looked dazzlingly mysterious at night. That is, it would if anyone bothered to notice it. Most people drove by without pause, but Gansey always anticipated seeing its grand roof cut into the sky as they raced nearer. St. Agnes’ steeple in the distance was the only thing soaring higher. 

Ronan was driving too fast. Slow down, Gansey thought, but he couldn’t muster the conviction to get farther than that. The speed was right for the song playing, and Gansey took another bite of pizza instead. Ronan hung a sharp left around the last corner and slid into the parking lot sideways. 

The air had the tangy scent of burned rubber when Gansey pushed open the passenger side. He clutched the pizza box and made a direct line for Monmouth’s door, concentrating on not tripping up.

“Where are you going?” Ronan’s arm caught Gansey around the shoulders and pulled him to the left. So, the direct line approach wasn’t quite working.

Ronan’s cologne caught the breeze, surrounding Gansey, and was gone again. He jogged ahead a few paces, opening the front door and making sure it didn’t swing back and smash the pizza right into Gansey’s chest.

He walked up the steps behind Gansey, bracing a hand on Gansey’s back. The pressure of it fit right over Gansey’s spine, pressed low. Logically there was no way Gansey could feel the individual fingers clearly, but his brain told him he could. He also felt the earth pull him backward, and Ronan groaned. 

“Come on, Gansey,” he said and pushed. 

Gansey was spat out onto the second floor. He stumbled forward but remained standing and held the pizza box over his head victoriously. “Triumph!” 

“Don’t drop it now.” 

Ronan snatched the box, set it on one corner of the pool table and picked up a half-slice Gansey hadn’t finished. He grabbed the same stick he had earlier but started on the opposite side, a mirror image to the start of their night. Nearly. Ronan had pizza tucked between his teeth now.

Gansey watched him bend over, legs straight. It only emphasized how long they were. Gansey scrunched his nose and pushed his glasses up on his head so he could rub his eye. 

“Is Noah here?” he asked the air and angled his face toward the ceiling. “Noah!”

“Get out here and let me beat you,” Ronan said, sending a ball into the corner pocket farthest from him. 

Noah didn’t appear. Gansey tried, “We have pizza!” hoping that might at least inspire a protest, but still there was nothing. 

That had been happening more. Sometimes Noah had simply gone to spend an evening with Blue, but more often than that lately he seemed to be nowhere at all. Ronan was gone all day, Noah was gone all night, and Gansey wondered how everyone else seemed to have so much more time than he did. 

Skip school or die, he thought, but right away the ugliness of it repulsed him. He said, “Yuck,” out loud and went to the kitchen-bathroom-laundry room to get orange juice. 

“Are you about to puke?” Ronan called after him. “Sorry, evacuate.” 

“Don’t be disgusting.” 

“Fine. See if I hold your hair back,” Ronan said. Gansey heard the crack of one ball striking another. 

He considered using a glass. It seemed wasteful. Why use another dish? That might have been the whiskey talking, but it was making a very good point. Gansey uncapped the container and drank it straight. Ronan wouldn’t care. 

He strode back into the main room and watched Ronan circle the table. Crack, crack, crack. One ball after another was a sharp pop in Gansey’s disorganized thoughts. The thrumming he’d battled all night was picking up again. 

He could tell Ronan about his hunch. _Don’t be mad, but I suspect my life will end this year,_ he’d say. _I didn’t ask for it, but I’m going soon,_ he might try instead. _Finish high school. It’s my dying wish._ That last one was definitely out. 

In reality, what he said was, “I was really rude to Child tonight.”

“ _Without_ me?” Ronan paused his next shot and looked at Gansey with his torso and arms elongated, bracing the stick. 

Gansey focused on the crook of his elbow cocked to fire. Pure potential energy. “I didn’t plan on losing my cool.”

Ronan squinted. “Did you apologize? It doesn’t count if you were sorry.”

“I walked away,” Gansey admitted shamefully. 

“And I missed it!” Ronan fired the cue ball too hard, sending the 6 careening off the side and clattering into the others. “Fuck, I’m proud of you.”

Gansey huffed. It was awful, not wonderful. Then he’d gotten drunk and stood on a stage. School might be a small nightmare. He said, “This is bad.”

“It’s perfect.”

“What if he says something to renege on Aglionby’s support for my mother?” 

“He’s an asshole, not self-destructive.”

“I’ll lose my good standing with the school,” Gansey said. The scenarios were piling in his head. How well did he know Child really? He should’ve started damage control before he was led astray by melted cheese.

“You won’t.” Another crack. “He’ll probably apologize to you.”

“He’ll call me into his office and terminate me for insubordination.”

Ronan scoffed. “How? Are you one of the teachers now?” he asked and shrugged a dismissive shoulder. “If they haven’t expelled me yet, they’ll never kick you out.”

Gansey felt a bright heat in his sternum. He swigged his orange juice and still felt angry after he swallowed. “This wouldn’t have happened if you’d just cooperated.”

“How is it my fault?”

“We were talking about you,” Gansey said, more accusatory than he liked. Once again, he was giving away the argument early by letting emotion into his voice. 

Ronan stood up straight to conspicuously consider the cue ball’s position rather than Gansey. “I didn’t make you. I, against my better judgment, didn’t go bother him at all.” 

“It’s a school, not a prison.” 

“I don’t need to be there,” Ronan said. 

Gansey closed the distance between them in brisk strides and lifted his chin. Pro: It discouraged him from yelling. Con: Gansey’s frustration might have been through the roof, but it still didn’t give him a height advantage.

“Get over it and go.”

“What does Aglionby have that I can’t get from going through the Barns?” Ronan spoke it more like a jab than a question. “It’s not like I’m going to college.”

“You might want to one day.”

“No, Dad, I won’t.”

“You don’t know that forever.” Gansey was gesturing with his bottle now. If he was still flushed from drinking, too, he assumed he had zero credibility with Ronan right now. It didn’t matter. Gansey was fueled by whiskey, grease and orange juice. “You have _no_ idea—”

“Give me one reason. Really, Gansey, give me one.” The fact that Ronan still didn’t sound fazed set Gansey’s teeth on edge. He felt aflame, anchored to Monmouth only by his plastic bottle. At least this close he could tell how Ronan’s breathing had changed. “I’m not going to do what you all are. Corporate job. Strangle myself with a tie every day.” Ronan tugged at his jacket. “I can’t wait to get out of this suit for good.”

“Trust me, we could all tell,” Gansey said. 

“What does that mean?” 

It was the one thing that brought any inflection to Ronan’s voice. It was also the one thing Gansey wanted to take back immediately. He willed himself to walk away, but his fingers poked at Ronan’s collarbone through the open vee of his unbuttoned shirt. 

“Look at this. Look at you,” he said. He ran them back to touch the tip of Ronan’s tattoo, and Ronan tilted his head, not quite away but a reaction. Gansey felt power. He needed points back here. “Losing the tie. Letting this show.” 

“I took it off after.” 

“These.” Gansey set his orange juice on the pool table and reached for Ronan’s wrist. Pushing up the cuff revealed the leather wristbands again, ever-present. The stick clattered to the floor, and Gansey didn’t flinch. 

“No one noticed,” Ronan said.

Gansey had just hoped for this night to go well. Instead he was on the downslope of a buzz, worried that he’d have a dozen calls and texts about his behavior and sudden escape. “I asked for one night.”

“I did that,” Ronan said. “I went. I didn’t fuck up anything you asked for, down to your thirty minutes. What else do you _want_?”

Gansey wanted to stop feeling out of sorts. He wanted to see Blue. He wanted Noah to stop disappearing so much. He wanted Adam to tell them for once, just once, what he needed. He wanted Ronan to go to class. He wanted stop to noticing all the tiny ways Ronan defied everything, a thousand little crimes, from Aglionby to Declan to wearing a suit like a threat. It bloomed so brightly in him that Gansey thought he might sink through to the first floor from the weight of wanting. 

Adrenaline stole his breath. He was inhaling in shorter gulps, Ronan calmer but just as tense. Gansey had pushed him into the pool table without realizing. If the edge was cutting into his legs uncomfortably, he didn’t say, just kept his eyes on Gansey’s face with a razor-sharp stare. Gansey wasn’t a stranger, though. He’d only ever spent time afraid for Ronan not _of_ him, and he caught when Ronan’s gaze dropped down to his mouth and back up. A fraction of a fraction of a second. 

Gansey: 1. 

He wanted. 

Drifting forward didn’t feel deliberate or much like anything until Ronan reared back an inch. Gansey caught himself and exhaled. Ronan’s wrist was still in his grip, everything else about them so still he could hear only the hum of the window air conditioners. Henrietta was silent minus the drone of machines, the two of them held in a mechanical bubble, unreal. Unrelenting. 

Gansey shifted his foot back. Ronan pressed his shoulders forward, and Gansey called his second bluff and crashed their mouths together. 

System reboot. Gansey tightened his grip on Ronan’s wrist and felt his mind go bone-chillingly blank. One second there was darkness, and the next few were a flurry of commands powering up in quick succession. He was on, on, on, on until he felt brighter than before, kissing Ronan feverishly.

For all his arguing, Ronan gave Gansey the lead in an instant. He followed Gansey parting his lips. Gansey tilted his head one way and Ronan the other. Gansey’s hand in Ronan’s shirt spread further right, tracing his collarbone until fabric trapped him, and Ronan didn’t protest. Ronan’s free hand came up to hook over Gansey’s forearm, but he didn’t dislodge Gansey’s hold. The pads of his fingers dug into Gansey’s skin and stayed.

If Noah returned now, Gansey wasn’t sure what he’d see. A fight or a dance. He’d see them like he never had.

Gansey broke away to suck in air. Ronan didn’t look at his face this time, his eyes choosing to watch the heave of Gansey’s chest. Gansey released his wrist and his shoulder, bringing his hands to the lapels of Ronan’s jacket. Ronan watched that too, silent as Gansey started to push it wide and off. 

“Lynch,” he said low, and Ronan held out his arms to wriggle free.

He didn’t answer. 

“Ronan.”

The gaze from earlier was back, something level and strange. Though unlike before, Gansey could see the effort behind it.

Ronan tossed his jacket aside and still didn’t speak. He didn’t say a word as Gansey moved to the buttons of his shirt, slowly undoing each one until a strip of bare skin from sternum to belly lay unveiled. Gansey’s hands were remarkably steady despite feeling like he was vibrating from head to toe. 

His fingers stole underneath one side of Ronan’s shirt, the pads skating across muscle. Ronan’s body looked unforgiving but felt vulnerable, just skin, bone and sinew like anyone. Gansey’s voice wavered more than he liked as he whispered again. “ _Ronan_ —”

“Don’t,” Ronan said finally. Gansey thought maybe he was talking about everything they were doing. He stopped his hands and rocked away, but Ronan’s fingers were faster. He caught Gansey’s wrists, their roles reversed. “Don’t say anything.”

He spoke like he meant this moment and maybe something bigger. Gansey wanted to ask why, to prod until Ronan unfolded in irritated fits and then all at once. That was Ronan’s way, nothing and nothing and then everything, but Gansey wanted to keep right now too much to risk losing it.

He didn’t even say okay, just slid his hands into Ronan’s shirt again. He fit his palms over Ronan’s ribs and tilted his head. An offering.

Ronan bowed close, in deference. His lips on Gansey’s felt secretive but honest, questioning in their own way.

Yes, Gansey replied, but with his teeth. He kissed Ronan, then bit him enough to aggravate, and Ronan pushed into Gansey again like he meant it. His hands came up to brace Gansey’s skull. Blunt nails scraped down Ronan’s sides without malice and still Ronan hissed like it stung.

Gansey was between his legs, hitching forward. He couldn’t tell if Ronan was hard, but he was, motivated by blood and an aching want that evolved each second. Ronan slid Gansey’s glasses off of his head and set them aside, his fingers an echo over Gansey’s hair.

Pushing Ronan back was easier than anything with Ronan had ever been. It startled Gansey even as he followed through, nudging Ronan until he hopped onto the pool table and crawling over him.

Ronan caught him around the waist. With gravity pulling their bodies flush, Gansey could feel the hard line of his cock. Working a thigh between Ronan’s legs confirmed it. He planted one hand on the table for leverage and pushed a few errant billiard balls away as he ground his hips down. One hit the side and ricocheted back, popping Ronan in the shoulder. 

“Ow, _fuck_ , you ass,” he said but his hand slid along Gansey’s back, untucking the shirt so he could slip underneath and press on Gansey’s spine. 

“Sorry.” Gansey punctuated the apology with another roll of his hips. 

Ronan’s curse flattened out into a moan, his brow pinched like a distorted version of an expression Gansey had seen before. Arousal, not frustration. The thought made Gansey’s heart thump hard in his chest, so forceful he dropped his head, breathing against Ronan’s neck. His hips kept working. 

It was surreal. Gansey had imagined a lot of things happening before April, but he couldn’t have predicted this. He would never have envisioned pinning Ronan to their pool table with his body, the two of them humping each other in dress pants as Ronan strangled a gasp before it hit the air. The next he buried against Gansey’s mouth. Gansey wouldn’t have predicted how good it could feel to finally touch someone, to be allowed. Ronan’s lips dragged against his in a persistent, uneven rhythm. Everything in Gansey was eager for more.

Undressing got harder when horizontal. With difficulty, Ronan got rid of his shirt. Gansey abandoned his suit jacket and Aglionby vest. Undoing their slacks was the worst, because it meant allowing pauses — sacrificing precious time when they could be crashing together to keep feeling electric. It was worth it once Gansey could bring his hand to his mouth, wet his palm and then reach down to touch Ronan’s bare cock with their flies open and underwear pushed underneath their balls. 

Gansey had never touched another boy like this. Ronan’s eyelids fluttered shut, and he smacked a fist against the table at his side. Chasing a hunch, Gansey passed him thumb over the head a second time and felt something like fireworks in his belly when Ronan swore and balled his fist again. 

Ronan’s cock was warm and soft in his grip. His thighs twitched against Gansey’s with every other upstroke, muscles betraying him. He wanted Ronan to feel good. He wanted to kiss him, and so he did, grateful when Ronan lifted into it to give back as much as Gansey gave. 

He held Gansey’s head between his hands again, rasping out, “Gansey,” as the steady jerk of Gansey’s fist wound him tighter and tighter. 

That one exhalation made Gansey desperately want to make Ronan come. He needed to see it. He had to know how it felt, and how it sounded. Every groan was another mystery uncovered. Gansey had always been obsessed with getting to the heart of a riddle. 

He paused to spit into his palm again, making the slide better. It felt dirty and right. Gansey was never this sloppy. Half-dressed sex on a pool table happened to other men, and yet here he was — here _they_ were — short of breath together, with Ronan’s desire held captive by Gansey’s touch. 

Gansey stroked and stroked and kissed him until Ronan’s muscles seized. He was frozen, shoulders up and one knee bent, almost concave in the middle of Monmouth Manufacturing. His cock spilled over Gansey’s hand and on their clothes. Gansey was so hot, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t simply become a single open flame. 

Ronan collapsed after a moment, flattening out. He threw his arm over his face and breathed. Gansey watched him start biting the leather on his wrist, habitual and mindless. 

Gansey kept reminding himself not to use the pool table’s woolen surface to wipe his hand. 

He untangled his limbs and gracelessly climbed onto the floor. Gansey found some napkins on his desk and used those, tossing them in the waste bin. After making his way around the edge of little Henrietta again, he found Ronan in the nearly same position. The difference now was that his eyes were open, chest moving with less forceful breaths. 

If Ronan at a political fundraiser was obscene, this was purely carnal. His pants and underwear were askew, partly pulled down his hips. Gansey’s eye traveled upward and met only naked skin. Ronan’s spent cock laid against him, the come on his belly unmistakable. 

Ronan’s eyes flicked down to Gansey. He propped on his elbow and waited, that unsettlingly even gaze boring a hole somewhere around Gansey’s lowest rib.

 _Has anyone else touched you like that?_ Gansey wanted to ask. _Is this what Kavinsky wanted? Did he get it? Did it kill him?_

No. Despite what people said, Ronan wasn’t made of poison. At least he hadn’t always been. The longer Gansey looked, the rounder Ronan’s eyes got rather than narrowing into untrusting slits. Gansey touched his pant leg and tugged on the fabric. 

Surprise only caught Ronan off guard for a second. He buried it quickly, scooting forward and standing. Gansey reached for his skin, and Ronan folded into him, obliging when Gansey asked for a kiss by pressing onto the balls of his feet. 

They both toed out of their shoes and shed the rest of their clothing. Gansey walked them backwards, little hopping steps against the cold floor until he half-tripped against the edge of his bed. He fell onto the mattress with a hollow plop.

Ronan lingered, looking down at Gansey with his mouth crooked to one side. Gansey had never seen him naked before. Close to it, sure. Living together meant no shortage of walking around in underwear, but being fully exposed was novel. He let his gaze pick a starting point on Ronan’s collar and travel down, hooking his hand around the back of Ronan’s knee once his eyes got that far. Gansey pulled.

He liked having Ronan’s weight on him. Gansey’s muscles were still singing, collecting energy and ready to float away. Ronan kept him steady. He kissed Gansey with more intent suddenly, as if all they needed was a mattress for him to believe this was happening. 

Gansey sighed as Ronan nipped at his throat. 

Ronan wasn’t cruel here. Anything sharp he chased with something sweet. Step one, use teeth. Step two, a gentle kiss over the suggestion of a wound. 

Gansey was still achingly hard. He wondered what he looked like to Ronan, if he felt just as unmoored. Gansey got so caught up in trying to make new pieces fit in his mind that he missed Ronan shifting down until his hands slid over Ronan’s spiky shaved head instead of the curve of his shoulder.

“Wait,” he said. Ronan obeyed, but it left him at Gansey’s hip. His teeth were a straight gleam of white against Gansey’s tan skin. From the jut of pelvic bone, he trailed foreboding kisses inward until Gansey’s cock twitched at the belated realization.

 _Oh!_ he thought, visualizing an exclamation mark appropriate for instances of discovery. _This is—_ but he never put a name to it because then Ronan’s mouth was on him, and Gansey lost every word he’d ever learned.

The suction drove him crazy. Ronan was more determination than method. He didn’t lick and suck like he was trying to break Gansey down in pieces, but rather like he did everything: full throttle, no surrender. Gansey scrabbled his fingers over Ronan’s buzz cut and jammed his head back into a pillow, moaning. 

He breathed Ronan’s name, and Ronan ignored it. “That’s — my god. You’re doing so good,” Gansey said, shattering the talking rule. 

Tiny tremors spiked from his cock to his gut and radiated out. Gansey was only his nerves, electrocuted on repeat.

He lifted his head and felt unmade by the sight of Ronan’s lips stretched around him. Ronan pulled back to the crown, sucked in a way that made Gansey shiver and slid down again. Gansey’s heart was going to punch through his chest. Being this turned on should have been impossible.

The room swayed. It was a dizzying swoop that Gansey didn’t have an obvious explanation for. The booze? The hour? The whole whole of Henrietta unraveling in the face of a night like this, left defenseless at the mercy of Ronan Lynch? Gansey pawed around until he found Ronan’s hand in the sheets and held on to keep from feeling like time might turn in on itself.

“Ronan,” he pleaded. A warning. Ronan’s fingers curled around Gansey’s, but he didn’t stop. He bobbed and slurped, and Gansey’s hips bucked as he came and let all his senses give way to white noise.

Gansey didn’t drift long. It was tempting, but he didn’t want Ronan to get that look again like he was waiting for Gansey to make a choice. Gansey yanked at Ronan’s shoulder and hauled him higher so he could see his face. Ronan’s mouth was still tellingly wet. With his thumb, Gansey traced Ronan’s bottom lip and then left the pad pressed right at the center.

He didn’t expect Ronan’s tongue to dart out and lick. Gansey’s hitched breath was a tattletale. Ronan answered it with a severe grin, too much hubris for the moment. Gansey let him have it, though, nudging his thumbnail against Ronan’s teeth and not hiding how stunned he was when Ronan opened up enough to take the digit onto his tongue and close his mouth. He shifted his head back, Gansey’s thumb dragging free gradually. 

“You’re a marvel,” Gansey whispered. 

Ronan rolled his eyes. Gansey was unashamed. He moved to kiss Ronan again to prove it, thwarted momentarily when Ronan dodged.

“Gross,” he said, and Gansey could tell he meant the compliment.

Gansey jabbed at Ronan’s shoulder with an open hand. He rolled them over and sat astride Ronan’s legs, trying the kiss another time. Ronan acquiesced. His hips bucked, and Gansey could tell he was already growing hard again. The night was so long.

;;

In the morning, Gansey thought about how nice it was to wake to the sound of birds chirping. The bird was Chainsaw. The chirp was her jaggedly calling, “Kerah!” at an unreasonable volume for so early in the day. It was not actually nice so much as it made Gansey want to poke out his own ear drums.

Ronan usually let her out of his room when she complained so that she could destroy the papers in their garbage baskets. Ronan—

Gansey’s eyes flew open. He sat upright in bed and looked around the room. Ronan had stayed. He’d slept. They’d slept in Gansey’s bed together, and remembering that also made him notice that there was no one beside him now. The empty space left behind wasn’t very warm either. Instead of a person, Gansey found only a smattering of crushed purple flower petals strewn across the sheets and scattered on the floor when he peeked over the edge.

He picked one up and watched how it seemed to shimmer in the sunlight yawning across the room. The petal was velvety and cool, more like the surface of water than flower. Gansey puzzled over it until Chainsaw screeched, “Kerah!” again.

Gansey searched for his boxers and pulled them up his legs as he stood. He walked to the pool table to fetch his glasses, then padded to Ronan’s room. Habit made him knock before he entered, but he found the nothing he expected. There was only Chainsaw giving the new day a piece of her mind.

“Alright, alright,” Gansey said. He meant for her to flutter onto his shoulder, but she went to his head instead. “Hey!”

Chainsaw made a noise that sounded impressively like the opposite of an apology and settled. He had no idea where Ronan might be. Going to the window seemed like a smart place to start his search, but he couldn’t quite tell whether the BMW was still parked down below from this angle.

“Where’s our man, do you think?” he asked Chainsaw. 

They’d had sex. Ronan had clearly dreamed. He’d gone. The clues weren’t many, but they added up in a way that introduced concern to Gansey’s groggy brain.

Chainsaw said, “Kerah,” with less fervor. Thick with something else.

“Yes, I agree,” said Gansey.

“Check the roof,” Noah said at Gansey’s side. Gansey jumped, jostling Chainsaw. She poked at his skull. “Sorry.”

“I didn’t know you were home.” Gansey had felt alone when he woke up, but now it struck him as ridiculous to have ever thought that was the case. “Wait. When did you get home?”

“He was still sleeping when I came, if that’s what you mean.”

Not quite. Gansey winced. “Did you see…”

“I saw you sleeping,” Noah said, nodding once. He sighed. “Check the roof.” 

Gansey couldn’t tell if Noah’s tone meant he should be bracing for something. Regardless, Gansey was going to have to face whatever Ronan had for him. His head was full of cotton from last night’s variety of consumption, but Gansey could be a lot worse for wear. 

He picked up a hoodie lying lifeless on the edge of Ronan’s bed and jammed his arms through the sleeves.

“We’ll be back,” he said to Noah. 

He paused in the kitchen to poke through the fridge. Ronan kept small cuts of meat for bird snacking. Gansey took one of the packages with him, and Chainsaw moved down to his shoulder finally as they climbed up to the door leading out to the roof. 

Monmouth’s third level was more of a glorified crawl space. It had enough room for maintenance workers to get to units that had long since stopped functioning, but it wasn’t worth living in. Maybe as a hideaway. Gansey considered the merits of plush bean bag chairs as he moved through, noting how the dust and cobwebs had been disturbed.

As they surfaced, Chainsaw took flight. She forged ahead of him, over the air conditioner and out of sight. Gansey traveled the long way around and spotted Ronan sitting near the raised lip of the building. He was in a tank top and his boxers, facing out toward the rest of Henrietta. 

“You’re so bossy,” he was saying to Chainsaw. He stroked her feathers and let her pick at the hem of his shirt with her beak. Her presence had to have alerted him that someone else was coming, but he didn’t look over his shoulder. 

Gansey walked to the unit Ronan was sitting on and waited at his right side. Ronan didn’t seem in a hurry to acknowledge another person, but eventually his eyes came up. He shifted to allow room for Gansey to perch, too.

Henrietta’s hills rolled out before them, cradled in the dewy place between dreaming and awake. The sun had risen but was not yet assertive. Its pink-orange glow coaxed downtown out of last night’s revelries and misadventures. Soon it might be too warm to sit up here comfortably under direct sunlight, but a chill clung to the air enough to make Gansey feel cozy nestled in his hoodie. Ronan’s hoodie. It smelled like its owner. Gansey wondered if that might mean Ronan still smelled like his bed. 

“Good morning,” he said finally. Neutral. “Chainsaw was worried you’d forgotten her.”

Ronan huffed out a breath through his nose. 

“She was worried I forgot food.” He turned to his opposite side and picked up something. What he brought around was a mug, somehow still steaming. It didn’t make sense if Ronan had been out here even ten minutes. “Trade you.”

Gansey handed over the package of meat and took the drink. He sniffed. “Coffee?”

“It’s bad. Someone left instant crap in the kitchen,” Ronan said. “Hangovers aren’t picky.” 

He opened the meat and held it out for Chainsaw to inspect. She jabbed at it, and then dove in earnestly. There was no bone, but the cut was tough enough that her beak snapped lightly as she ripped it apart. 

Gansey pressed ceramic-warmed fingers between his eyes. There was a headache forming. The throb was nothing dire, but he brought the mug to his lips gratefully anyway. It really was a wonder that the cup stayed hot.

“Is this one of yours?” he asked, raising it. 

“Juice never gets hot. Coffee never gets cold,” Ronan said. 

What an amusingly practical dream. “You could market this.”

“As seen on Lynch TV.” Ronan voiced it blandly, but Gansey chuckled. 

This felt easy. Gansey delighted in quiet mornings sometimes. They were ripe with possibility. Simple mornings grew distressingly rarer for him and his friends, but caffeine and low laughs with Ronan felt luxurious until he remembered why this one should be something different. 

Gansey said, “I should say—” 

“I know it isn’t happening again.” Ronan picked up a hunk of beef and held it out to Chainsaw. Gansey could see the white gristle, a tougher piece than the rest. It took more effort, more snapping. 

That wasn’t what Gansey had been on the verge of saying. He was going to say that he understood if Ronan was angry. The fire in Gansey was less than a simmer now, dulled by sex and miraculous sleep. Though he hoped it was mutually cleansing, he would understand if it had instead been a transfer. He wouldn’t protest if Ronan needed to yell that he’d been selfish. 

“I was going to say I’m sorry for being a brat yesterday. Unacceptable of me,” Gansey said. “Thank you for driving us home. And for — for all of it.” 

He should’ve called it what it was. Ronan was right. This didn’t feel like the start of something. But it wasn’t an end either. Yesterday might have been a mistake for others, but Gansey refused to entertain regret. He hadn’t let much worse nights make him regret Ronan. He wouldn’t start with something that had made them both feel less lonely.

Gansey’s heart filled with an indecipherable ache, itching for something he couldn’t parse. A person he hadn’t left. He missed Ronan as if he was lightyears away in an instant, longing for him so deeply that he felt the full truth of it coil tight in his throat. Gansey could say everything in his mind right now. He could drop every bomb at once and spend the weeks he had left sorting through the wreckage. The words knocked behind his teeth: _I think I’m going to die, and I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be someone else who leaves you._ He swallowed to shackle them. 

Ronan didn’t respond. In fact, his only response was a notable non-reaction. 

“Don’t ignore me,” Gansey said. He couldn’t stomach it right now. 

Ronan looked away from Chainsaw and regarded him uncritically. “Correct. You were an asshole.” 

Gansey sighed and nodded. “Will this ruin us?” 

Ronan turned his face out toward Henrietta. He cracked his neck and unbent his legs, stretching them out toward where the roof ended. His toes grazed an inch or two away. Gansey almost pressed the issue, but Ronan felt down for Gansey’s forearm, sliding to his wrist. He intertwined their hands and brought the fist they made to his mouth. It wasn’t quite a kiss. Ronan’s lips simply pressed to the back of Gansey’s hand, soft over thin bones. 

Gansey held his breath. He let Ronan do as he wanted, both shocked and comforted by the time Ronan released him. 

“Don’t thank me,” Ronan said. He held out the same hand for the mug and Gansey passed it back, watching him sip with his mouth in the same place Gansey’s had been. “I wanted to.”

A few months ago this really might have ruined them. Gansey didn’t think it was unfair to ask, but if Ronan didn’t seem scared of it, then Gansey would try very hard to trust it. He owed Ronan that. 

They shared the coffee like they shared the flask. It didn’t escape him that both had come to him without having to ask, Ronan anticipating a Gansey need.

The more he thought about last night, the more Gansey found an embarrassed smile nipping at the corner of his mouth. He groaned. “Dude, I said ‘good.’” Ronan eyed him, lost. Gansey brought his palm to his face and said, “You made me say you were doing ‘good’ instead of ‘well.’” 

It took a beat, but then Ronan caught on and turned his face up to the sky. He laughed, booming into the drowsy Henrietta morning. Chainsaw croaked. 

“You’re welcome,” he said, grinning.


End file.
